


Magic in the Making

by HowNowWit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The 100 (TV)
Genre: 9500 words later..., AU, Artistic License, But what can I say?, Clexa, F/F, Fantasy, Fluff, I am weak for Clexa kisses, I tried my best, If You Squint - Freeform, Magic, Prompt Fill, Soulmates, There's also a bit of Ranya, This was both fun and nerve wracking to write, Tumblr Prompt, but there's also, especially in regards to Clexa, how did this happen?, is there an award for longest build up to first kiss in a oneshot?, it's a crossover, magic has the potential to be so wondrous that it feels like a crime to not explore all its nuances, my usual aesthetic is soft clexa so that may have still shone through, that should've been the first tag oh well, this has action, this is out of my comfort zone, this is too long, this thing was supposed to be a ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 01:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13424160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowNowWit/pseuds/HowNowWit
Summary: Sometimes love has a way of finding us when we least expect.Clarke just wanted a quiet night to enjoy the Halloween ball at Hogwarts. A little dancing, a little dessert. Maybe a little lingering eye contact with a certain someone...But her friend Raven had other plans to spice up the night, and now Clarke has to make sure those "plans" don't kill anyone.It's a Clexa HP Soulmate AU. Prompt fill from tumblr.





	Magic in the Making

**Author's Note:**

> This is fantasy and while I know it’s set in the HP universe, I took a bit of artistic license with this. … Okay, a lot of artistic license. I may have bungled it up. But magic is magical for a reason, so yes, soulmates exist in this universe.
> 
> Prompt from clexaweek2018 (or dreamsaremywords) on tumblr: “So- Clexa in Hogwarts. Raven always plays a prank on Halloween night. This year she thinks it's a brilliant idea to let loose an entire crate of blast-ended skrewts. Clarke, her exasperated best friend, has to hurry up and herd them back into their cages, and she somehow either saves or is saved by Lexa. Bonus points if their clothes are nearly burnt to a crisp by the end of the night.”
> 
> Didn't strictly stick to the prompt, but I hit the highlights. And at this point, I’ve spent so long on this thing that I just need to let it be free. Hope you enjoy.

“You did what?”

 

Raven squirmed beneath her glare, eyes downcast and unable to meet her own. “It was a joke.”

 

It was a weak defense, that’s what it was. Clarke grabbed a forearm that jingled with decorative bangles and bracelets, drawing Raven further from the entrance to the great hall—further from potentially prying eyes and ears. Music and laughter and murmured voices faded as they rounded a corner into another section of corridor, the click of their heels growing more prominent in the ensuing silence.

 

Clarke turned, keeping her voice low and level, like smoothed gravel on a rainy day. It did nothing to dilute the sharp sting of her tone. “What part of this could possibly be funny?”

 

A spark of defensive fire flared in brown eyes, and Clarke was reminded of the dormant beast that slumbered within. _Don’t poke the bear. Or wolf, as it were._

 

Raven crossed her arms, jangling the bracelets once more. The hairs on the back of Clarke’s neck prickled at the noise, at the almost imperceptible ripple that juddered along olive skin, starting at hands and traveling upwards in a wave, slow to settle. A presage of more to come if Clarke didn’t contain the situation.

 

“A little mayhem never hurt anybody,” Raven began, and Clarke adjusted her body language into something less outright threatening. Some of the tension drained from Raven’s shoulders, a subconscious response, and her arms uncrossed, opening her stance. “They weren’t supposed to escape,” she admitted with a grumble.

 

Clarke took a deep breath and held it before letting it out in a rush. _Calm_ , she reminded herself, even as dread began to pool in her belly. “Did it ever occur to you that it’d be nice to have a night of fun without introducing an element of fatal danger to the mix?”

 

“But it’s Hallowee—” Raven cut herself off at Clarke’s scowl and tried a different approach. “They’re small.”

 

Clarke glanced around, half expecting one to be lurking in the shadows, waiting to attack. “How small is small?”

 

“Only four feet…maybe five?”

 

Her stomach sank and she closed her eyes in a slow blink. “So they’re adolescents.” This was so much worse than she imagined.

 

Raven shook her head, dark hair spilling about her shoulders with the rapid movement. “They’re female! No stingers.”

 

“And blood sucking is better?” Clarke rubbed the bridge of her nose. _One night. Just one night. Is that too much to ask?_

 

Raven appeared almost bashful, rubbing a hand along one arm and glancing off to the side. “I was going to hex them before I set them loose. So no sucking. But now…”

 

 _Lord help me_. “For a genius, you need to work on your reasoning skills, Rae. Adolescents means ill-tempered at best. Or…never mind.” She flashed through what she remembered from Care of Magical Creatures all those years ago. “This was an awful idea from the get go.”

 

Who in their right mind would give Raven Reyes a crate of blast-ended skrewts?

 

“This is a newer crop. Luna said they’re more friendly.”

 

That answered that question. “We’ll see about that,” Clarke said dryly. And she would be having a talk with Luna.

 

She took a moment to mourn her lost night, the slow dancing and desserts, smiles and… but that was a lost dream. Now was the time for damage control. Maybe they could find the buggers before they caused any uproar. Or loss of life. She glanced at her dress, Raven’s, and wondered if they had enough time to change. Heels and lace were not conducive to battling fire-blasting, blood-sucking, giant arthropods. Raven fingered the soft black silk of her own gown, probably wondering the same.

 

“You realize as a Prefect I’m obligated to report this,” Clarke said as she retrieved her wand from a strategic pocket disguised by blue filigree. Anticipation coiled in her muscles and her awareness sharpened, a knife to whetstone.

 

Raven started to protest but decided to cut her losses. “So you’ll help?”

 

That hopeful look would be the death of her one day. She just knew it. “I swear. Sometimes I think you’d be better off in Slytherin.”

 

“Hey!” The first of the screams cut off the rest of Raven’s response. _Shit_. They shared a look. “Guess they found the party. That was quick.”

 

Clarke kicked off her heels and gripped her wand as she set off towards the great hall at a run. Raven loped easily at her side, the slit along the edge of her gown allowing for freer movement.

 

“They’re attracted to heat and movement. Where else would they go?” Clarke panted, silently vowing to exercise more if they made it out of this unscathed. “How many are we looking at here?”

 

“Seven. I was keeping them down by the first-year entrance. Easy access.”

 

 _Double shit_.

 

“We need reinforcements.”

 

She skidded to a halt near the double doors, trying to weave her way through the mass exodus of panicked students. Smoke and skittering and screams drifted from the opening, as did the harried bellows of those attempting to retain order.

 

“Bellamy should be here somewhere,” Raven said as she dodged an elbow, only for a first-year to ram into her. She grunted and shoved the boy away. “And Octavia and Lincoln.”

 

Chaos reigned within the great hall once Clarke broke through the tide of escaping students. No fewer than six blast-ended skrewts were scattered throughout the chamber, large enough to require more than brute strength to subdue. Their domed shells shone a deep, pearlescent onyx that refracted any light, fading to hues of yellow-orange along the divots where each section fused, reminiscent of the flames they used as a propellant towards intended prey. On the opposite end of their crab-esque bodies rose an appendage—or perhaps a neck—which tapered to a large maw capable of suction. The dark recesses gaped into the air, twitching this way and that, like the nose of a hound scenting its prey.

 

Various ragtag groups of students and professors attempted to contain the creatures—with limited success. Skrewt armor deflected spells, which ricocheted around the room, more likely to hit a person than the intended target. Clarke dodged one such spell, only for an unfortunate student behind her to fall to the ground, stupefied.

 

“You!” She snagged a few passing students to ensure the girl was carried to safety. A boy started to protest, but one look at Raven dissuaded him of the notion.

 

Clarke moved further into the room, ducking around an ornamental chocolate fountain when a skrewt paused, its antennae-like mouth shifting in her direction. The acrid scent of skrewt fire grew stronger, burning her nostrils and searing down her throat. Eyes watering, Clarke held her breath, fighting the urge to cough. A dozen or so thudding heartbeats later, and the skrewt seemed to lose interest.

 

The enchanted instruments in the corner had yet to be un-enchanted. Frilly, classical music continued to provide a backdrop to the skrewt screeches and human cries of pain or alarm. Singed tablecloths and smoking rugs dotted the floor, a few with rapidly growing flames.

 

Clarke loosed a charm, yanking an unsuspecting student from a blasting skrewt’s path. The skrewt slammed into the wall with a resounding _crack_ , the stone and mortar spider-webbing from the impact.

 

Well, the place was due for a remodel anyway.

 

A hush followed in the wake of the muffled boom that vibrated along the floor and into the soles of her feet. Or perhaps that was merely the pause of eardrums adjusting.

 

The skrewt skittered away, unaffected.

 

“Not very coordinated, are they?”

 

Clarke managed not to jump. Raven possessed an innate grace that belied her sometimes brash personality and mercurial temper. When silence and fluidity slipped into her limbs, she was known to leave startled students and rapid heartbeats in her wake.

 

Used to such eccentricities, Clarke found her presence reassuring.

 

“They don’t need coordination.”

 

A screech of a different pitch—one that felt painful even hearing it—ripped through the air.

 

She turned her head, sought the sound, and found _her_. Braids in ruffled brown hair, face focused and expression sharp, movements calculated and sure. Lithe form, slender yet powerful. An island of controlled calm amidst the roiling chaos. As Clarke watched, she deflected a charging skrewt with a downward slash of her wand and the creature let out another shrill cry.

 

Lexa. Dress ripped and scrunched to well above her knees, allowing for greater freedom of movement. She always possessed an agility and ease of motion that made one pause, drew the eye and made one look twice without quite knowing why. With the current mess and Clarke’s friend antsy and alert beside her, her mind made a connection, a leap from one idea to another like the arc of electricity from positive to negative. One that had never occurred to her before and made her mind briefly still. She watched as Lexa released a stunning spell, quickly followed by a protective charm, even as she ripped a leg from a chair and raised it, wielded it like a sword in defense. That grace and fluidity, it reminded her of…Raven.

 

As if the thought summoned its subject, Lexa’s gaze met hers across the room, and Clarke felt the snap of connection like static surging through her veins. Mere heartbeats passed, yet it was as if an understanding pulsed between them, heavy and charged. Lexa dipped her chin in a nod, which Clarke mirrored. Then reality snapped back into grim focus.

 

Clarke clenched her jaw. _Let’s do this_.

 

She tried to formulate a strategy from what little she knew of the creatures.

 

Strengths: _shoot fire from one end to propel towards target; teeth and mouth for blood sucking at other end; hard armor that deflects most spells._

 

Weaknesses: _…_

 

Lexa cracked her makeshift bat against a skrewt shell, jarring and violent, to little effect.

 

 _Come on, come on_ , weaknesses…

 

 _Underbelly!_ she recalled.

 

Casing a _sonorous_ charm, she called, “Aim for the underbelly!” The distant dart of Lexa’s gaze was acknowledgment enough. Already she modified her approach to accommodate.

 

Her mind whirred. _And the females seek blood to promote growth of offspring_.

 

_Blood…_

 

A growl drew her attention and Clarke did a double take. To her side, Raven _thrummed_ with energy. It radiated from her with a palpable current, a kind of heat and vibration that teased Clarke’s magical senses.

 

“Rae,” she said, slow and careful. Brown eyes flicked to her. The energy intensified, humming along her nerve endings. Like a call. “Maybe you shouldn’t— “

 

“I’ll be fine.” Her voice held a raspy quality that did not bode well. “This is my mess. I’ll help clean it up.”

 

 _Merlin help me_.

 

“Okay,” Clarke began, scanning the crowd. “We need a—”

 

Something slammed into her side, knocking her back a few steps. For a brief moment, Clarke thought that was it. Death by skrewt. But she turned and found a familiar face too close to her own.

 

“Oops.” If smiles were venomous, Clarke would already be dead.

 

“Nia.” She stepped back and kept the pain from her expression, unwilling to give Nia the satisfaction.

 

Her narrow face and pointed chin resembled that of a fox. Or a weasel, Clarke liked to think. Grey eyes catalogued her up and down, her calm demeanor jarring, before meeting Clarke’s gaze. “Didn’t see you there.”

 

The lie fizzed across Clarke’s skin, prickly and rough. Nia’s smile stretched, as though aware of Clarke’s discomfort, and she leaned closer. Clarke fought the urge to pull away, hair standing on end when Nia paused close to her ear. Rigid muscles screamed with tension and warning, and her hand ached where she gripped her wand.

 

“Have fun, Griffin.”

 

With that she was gone. Clarke blinked, breathing deeply a few times.

 

_What the hell?_

 

“Look out!”

 

She only had time to turn her head, catch the terrifying forward blur of movement, and then there was only pain. The concussive jarring of impact and the dizzy jitter of bones and tissues not meant to collide.

 

And heat. White hot heat, wrapped in a sulfuric stench that clogged her nose and starved her lungs of air. Her synapses burned with a molten kind of blaze, sharp and blinding to the point she didn’t know if it was icy or hot, then dull. Deadened.

 

The next thing she registered was the cold splash of water, drenching her clothes and skin and sending a full-body shiver along her spine. She sputtered, gulped in a few breaths, and blinked open hazy eyes to see a furrowed brow and concerned green gaze, dark hair blocking out the world as she leaned over Clarke’s supine form.

 

“Clarke.” The inflection wasn’t quite enough to warrant a question, but Clarke nodded anyway, willing her lungs to work and taking inventory of her wounds. Cautiously, she rose to her elbows, feeling the painful stretch of skin, the pounding throb of her head, the ache of bruised muscle that made her wince.

 

A twitch of Lexa’s face, some shift in her stance, though quickly quelled, drew Clarke’s attention, made her think of restrained urges and… Clarke blinked, reached to feel the back of her head. _Concussion_ came to mind.

 

A gentle hand grasped her wrist; another cradled her shoulder for support. “Careful.” The word, murmured low and tense, matched the emotion swirling in green depths. Lexa’s eyes darted between her own, then down, assessing. “The fire caught you as the skrewt passed.”

 

Clarke stared, dazed. Soot shadowed one side of Lexa’s face, darkened the curve of cheekbone the way an artist’s thumb smudged charcoal, and Clarke wondered what injuries she had sustained, what she hid beneath her focused demeanor.

 

Her mind traveled to a similar scenario, different circumstances, where cautious hands had dared to reach, hopeful eyes and tentative lips had asked a question. A question that—

 

Clarke blinked and the world danced, tilted on its axis. Her stomach roiled. She groaned and suddenly Lexa was _there_. Hovering, eyes searching. “What?” she asked. Then, more urgent: “Clarke, _what_?”

 

The noise reverberated in her skull.

 

“Head,” she managed, closing her eyes to stop the swirl of colors and lights and darks.

 

Lexa muttered an incantation, the words lost to the ringing in Clarke’s ears, but then the pain receded. At least enough for thoughts to reassemble into some order. With a sigh, she went limp in relief, arms once more cushioning her fall.

 

Arms which wrapped beneath her knees and behind her shoulders and began to lift her. Clarke grunted in protest, feet scrabbling along the ground before going airborne.

 

“I’m fine.” It was more rasp than voice. Lexa stilled, held her suspended as though her weight was of no consequence, expression dubious. “Better,” Clarke amended, blinking away a few black spots and encroaching darkness. The arms encircling her shifted, and the flex of muscle and press of closeness sent heat through her bruised body, a kind of thrum that tightened something in her chest.

 

The proximity allowed an as yet unexplored insight into the nuances of Lexa’s face, the curve of lips and workings of muscle which encompassed every expression. A sharp exhale through her nose warmed the skin of Clarke’s throat, said _no, I’m carrying you_. Clarke tightened her hold around Lexa’s neck, raised an eyebrow: _no, you’re not_. After a pregnant pause, Clarke holding Lexa’s gaze in a silent push-pull of wills and wordless arguments, Lexa let her feet drop, steadying her as she found her equilibrium to stand.

 

“You will require a healer.” She stood close, eyes alert, scanning the dizzying spin of surrounding activity as Clarke regained her bearings.

 

Clarke felt the burns, the deadened splotches where skin was seared away, but noted some of the same that dotted Lexa’s body. Patches of her dress were singed to tatters, and Clarke discerned the hidden pain in the tightness around Lexa’s eyes, though her face remained even. They both would need some fixing up once all this was over.

 

“Let’s just take care of this first,” Clarke said, relieved when Lexa pressed the comforting weight of her wand into her palm. She rolled it to her left hand, flexed her fingers into a steadier grip.

 

A sudden thought made her jolt, heart in her throat. “Raven?” she half-asked, half-called, spinning in a frantic circle. Dizziness halted the move, almost made her stumble as she waited for the world to catch up.

 

“Fine.” Lexa assured, nudging her chin, and Clarke followed the direction with her gaze to find Raven fighting side-by-side with Anya. “You caught the worst of it.”

 

Indeed, Raven appeared unfazed, minor burns marring the fabric of her dress. And strangely in sync with Anya as they slung spells.

 

The shimmer of a shield registered in her vision, like the luminescent sparkle of a soap bubble beneath the right light. It arched from the ground, a protective dome just large enough to encircle the two of them. Her awareness now attuned, she tasted cinnamon, just a touch, right on the tip of her tongue. And the subtle hint of pine that ghosted into her nose, like standing on the outskirts of an old-growth forest in winter—subdued and dormant, but powerful. She savored the flavors for a moment, let them shiver along her skin, and just as she blinked, it disintegrated with a tug she felt in her bones.

 

Lexa shifted with the shield’s release, just a twitch of her shoulder, the tick of her jaw, but the tell was enough. Clarke knew the spell’s creator.

 

“We must move,” Lexa said, glancing around now they were exposed.

 

But Clarke just stared. “ _Protego_ and illusion,” she murmured, still analyzing her senses. An impressive mixture: a protective charm woven into an illusion that allowed for camouflage and the deflection of unwanted spells, all molded into a shape conducive to defense. It was advanced magic.

 

Lexa raised an eyebrow, surprised.

 

“I can…taste magic,” Clarke explained, struggling to find adequate words. For it was more than taste. Something deeper, like an emotion. Few knew of this ability, for the trait was not one she had heard of, and its rarity inclined her towards secrecy for fear of drawing unwanted scrutiny.

 

Lexa’s attention sharpened, head tilted. “Taste?”

 

“It’s hard to describe.” She swallowed, still rolling the swirl of pine and cinnamon across her mind, knowing it was the trace of Lexa’s magic she was feeling. Wondering why it felt so familiar, so safe. “I can sense it in various forms. Sometimes it’s a taste, or a smell. Other times just a feeling.”

 

“And you can identify the spell accordingly? Its caster?” At Clarke’s nod, Lexa’s eyebrows rose further, this time impressed. “You must be a formidable opponent in duals.”

 

Her cheeks warmed, at a loss for words.

 

A nearby cry of pain rattled Clarke from her introspection, and her awareness broadened with a snap. Along the wall, a skrewt had a student pinned beneath powerful legs, its mouth latched to his torso. Crimson stained the white of his tuxedo shirt, his ineffectual struggle growing weaker.

 

On instinct, Clarke aimed and loosed a stunning spell. It ricocheted from the carapace towards the enchanted ceiling, disappearing into a starry night sky. _Shit_. _Okay, think_.

 

Striding closer, Clarke aimed again, this time at the thinner neck that connected the mouth to the skrewt’s body.

 

“Clarke,” Lexa called in warning.

 

A hand gripped her dress, tight enough to warn but not restrain. Her concentration remained firm.

 

“ _Wingardium leviosa_.”

 

A second of delay, and then the skrewt’s teeth dislodged, the neck rising into the air, mouth gaping, helpless. While it didn’t remove the skrewt from the boy and the charm was only temporary at best, at least he was no longer being drained dry. It confirmed her theory.

 

Clarke spun to face Lexa. “I have an idea.”

 

Two things happened simultaneously. A minor explosion shook the far corner of the room. Its shockwave reverberated through the ground, displaced air teasing Clarke’s drying hair. She stumbled into Lexa just as a howl rent the air. A lupine howl, primal and spine-chilling.

 

A hush fell in its wake. The air rippled with magic, a tang of mint, cool and sharp as a knife blade on her skin.

 

 _Oh no_.

 

Clarke looked in time to catch the tail end of Raven’s shift. Muscle and bone morphed and realigned, the way a potter molds modeling clay in deft hands: loose and smooth. Fabric ripped as her form expanded; skin rippled, sprouting russet fur in waves as her face extended into a muzzle, bared canines elongating. A formidable sight. Before the transition was complete, she leaped with a growl, claws and teeth scrabbling for purchase along a skrewt’s shell.

 

Only then did Clarke see the girl trapped beneath the creature: Anya. But before she had a chance to react, the skrewt bucked Raven off. She careened through the air and landed hard on her side, unmoving.

 

“Rae!” Clarke yelled, torn. She was in no condition to provide help. She would only get in the way. Lexa seemed to agree, her steadying hold on her elbow sending a tingle across her skin.

 

“Wait,” Lexa cautioned, a word Clarke felt as much as heard.

 

Undeterred, Raven rose to her feet, seemingly unharmed, and attacked again. Vicious.

 

“Holy…” Clarke trailed off, impressed and slightly intimidated. She’d never seen Raven so intent in her violence.

 

Headmaster Kane was attempting to usher remaining students out of the great hall, his commanding voice rising above the chaos with a _sonorous_ charm. From what Clarke could tell, few obeyed. People were idiots.

 

“Is she registered?” Lexa asked as she watched the animagus, body tense but still. Waiting. But for what?

 

“Yeah,” Clarke said absently, scanning the room. A burgeoning headache made it difficult to focus. It was time to end this. “She just doesn’t like to spread it around. Some people make it weird.”

 

Anya withdrew a knife from somewhere on her person and plunged it into the belly of the skrewt. It screamed and writhed, legs crumpling. Blood gushed from the wound as it attempted to crawl, dragging Anya as she held tight, pressing the blade deeper.

 

 _Ah. Waiting for that_. Clarke swallowed down the bile in her throat. Some of Lexa’s tension eased, and her focus shifted, alert and scanning for danger.

 

“You don’t look surprised,” Clarke said, glancing at Lexa. She shifted closer and a bit of the headache eased.

 

“I suspected,” she admitted with a shrug, keen eyes discerning. “She must learn to temper her emotions. It will allow her to control the animal within, rather than it controlling her.”

 

Raven dove beneath the skrewt and from there it was a downhill battle. Whatever armor plated its underbelly was no match for wolf claws and teeth, or the sharp edge of an expertly wielded blade. The struggle was short, but messy. Canines rent and crushed, claws tore and shredded. The wolf ravaged what remained of the skrewt until its feeble death throes slackened and stilled.

 

Raven stood in the aftermath, legs splayed, fur matted and slick, muzzle scarlet as she panted. But her eyes…they gleamed a predator’s amber gaze. After a while, she dipped to nose where Anya lay on the ground with a gentleness so disparate it took Clarke a moment to process the tender act. A tentative hand rested atop the wolf’s bowed head, and Clarke averted her eyes.

 

 _Well,_ Clarke thought, hand unconsciously gripping the silk of Lexa’s dress. _That’s one way to do it_.

 

“One down,” she muttered, and Lexa released a huff halfway between a sigh and snort. She too appeared disconcerted, though she hid it well.

 

The relief was a brief respite, but necessary. As close as they stood, Clarke resisted the urge to tuck her head into the crook of Lexa’s neck, to ignore the aches and threats and weariness. It was a…strange desire. Unexpected, and she got the sense she would be shocked under other circumstances. But exhaustion tugged at her edges and pain dulled her mind, weighed her limbs and eyelids. She missed the comfort of her robes, the sense of discipline and contained power their weight imbued. Instead, she stood in a scorched dress so ragged and soaked it offered little protection. But Lexa was here, her presence a continuous vibration along her skin. Warm, almost alive. It drew her, like a compulsion.

 

Lexa turned, and by the mingled confusion and wonder in her eyes, Clarke suspected she felt the same.

 

_What…is happening?_

 

“You had an idea,” Lexa prompted, eyes searching Clarke’s face, dipping down low, before resolutely shuttering.

 

“Right.” Clarke blinked, coming back to herself. “Right,” she repeated, with more conviction, ignoring the strange flush that suffused her body. “I just need…Bellamy!”

 

She called again over the ruckus as she spotted him ducking behind a toppled sculpture, tie askew and tux ripped at a few seams, waistcoat marred by ash and dirt and missing buttons. He peeked around the water feature, did a double take, and darted towards her once the coast was clear.

 

A skrewt careened in their direction, battering through several chairs and people. Rather than intercept, they evaded its trajectory, Clarke dashing one way with Lexa, Bellamy the other. She caught Lexa about the waist as she tottered—a small tick of Lexa’s forehead led Clarke to suspect a sprained ankle—and she took a moment to register the near miss as her adrenaline cooled, heart thudding, head pounding. She breathed into the stillness, catching traces of spice and pine as her cheek brushed Lexa’s, just enough to tease her senses. A hand rested on her bicep in silent thanks, and Clarke drew strength from the steadying contact.

 

“Clarke!”

 

Lexa stiffened in her arms at Bellamy’s voice, and Clarke tightened the press of her palm along her waist, both reassurance and a warning. After a rigid moment some of her tension eased. With a fortifying breath, Clarke turned to face Bellamy.

 

He shoved sooty strands of hair from his eyes, face grim. Residual magic lingered about him, an aura of frost and peppermint, like fresh spring runoff from mountain glaciers. She knew his magical trace, had encountered it countless times before, and it always had a kind of appeal to it. Yet now, compared to Lexa’s, it was muffled, subdued. Clarke spared a curious thought for the sudden change.

 

Lexa’s face remained stoic and still, and while Bellamy eyed the Ravenclaw with uncertainty, he gave a nod before turning his attention back to Clarke. “We’re not holding up so well. Kane managed to immobilize one, but the magic seems to wear off too soon and the buggers won’t stay still long enough even for the professors to aim a proper shot.” His expression faltered, brown eyes widening as growls issued from the wolf still prowling the hall, guarding an injured Anya. “And Raven, she’s…” he trailed off, baffled, at a loss.

 

Clarke ignored the latter. No time.

 

“I have an idea. Is there a way you can summon them?”

 

Bellamy ran a hand through his hair again, releasing a gust of breath. “If I had a couple of hours to make a potion, maybe.”

 

Her mind raced, searching for alternatives, considering and dismissing until she latched onto a possibility. _They_ couldn’t apparate, but maybe…

 

“Rally the house elves. See if they can transport all the meat they can find. The bloodier the better.” She shifted her weight to her right leg, wincing at the twinge in her knee. “You were always good with conjuring. Can you pull cages?”

 

Recognition lit his eyes, and she knew they were on the same wavelength. “Absolutely.”

 

He set off at a run, dodging obstacles and disappearing through the smoldering remnants of a far door.

 

Lexa appeared torn, a host of expressions filtering across her normally stoic face too quickly for Clarke to process. She traced Bellamy’s path, and Clarke gleaned the conflicted direction of her thoughts.

 

“I need your help with containment,” she said, drawing Lexa back to the present with a brush of fingers to a toned forearm. The skin flexed beneath her touch, and the swirl within stormy green cleared with silent acquiescence.

 

Her features smoothed as they relocated nearer the entrance to the great hall. One door hung askew from a hinge, while the other swung, jagged and charred, a chunk broken from the top and a sizable dent marring the center. Splinters gouged her bare soles with each step, and Clarke bore the pain with a grimace.

 

She surveyed the scene, working out logistics in her mind and sensing Lexa doing the same at her side. Physical or magical, or a combination of both? Already a few house elves had apparated with loud cracks, bloody meat in their possession. Hopefully this would be over soo—

 

A skrewt blasted past them and through the entrance, leaving a trail of sulfuric smoke in its wake. One shared look with Lexa, eyebrow cocked and lips pursed, and she knew. The knowledge sat in her mind as surely as though Lexa had spoken aloud. Damage control first, then hunting.

 

Lexa raised her wand, and if Clarke didn’t know better she would see a conductor before an orchestra rather than a witch facing mayhem.

 

Magic swelled around her as she began a spell, flooding Clarke’s senses.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

More cinnamon this time, less pine, mixed instead with the scent of crisp spring air, ripe with potential. And something earthy, rich and fertile like loam along a lakeshore, its waters dark and still with unknown depths.

 

This was more sensory input than she had ever received when reading another’s magic. The barrage was both overwhelming and enlightening. She embraced it rather than shrinking away.

 

“Sealing the room,” Lexa replied without breaking her concentration. “We don’t need any more escaping to wreak havoc elsewhere.”

 

Clarke agreed, if only they could create a shield strong enough to contain creatures immune to most magic.

 

“Selectively permeable?” she inquired, assessing, as she raised her own wand.

 

An incline of the head.

 

A daunting task, but worth a try. She took Lexa’s left hand in her right and sank into the mindset that allowed greater sensitivity to her gift. The onslaught of pain ebbed from her consciousness, allowing her mind to turn serene and malleable, poised for spell work as a blank canvas awaits the first stroke of the brush. She felt the framework, followed Lexa’s progress as one eyed the leading stitches of a seamstress’s needle, felt the pattern in her bones. After a moment, Lexa welcomed the contact, strengthened her hold, and eased the pace of her work as if sensing Clarke’s intentions, saying, _here, like this, see?_

 

Once she learned the rhythm of Lexa’s spellcasting, Clarke wove her own within its fabric, slow at first, then with greater confidence, layered with careful precision until her low voice blended with Lexa’s tenor. With each passing word, each synchronized gesture, it grew in strength if not volume. It grew into a harmony so profound, it surpassed mere auditory realms and persisted deeper, thrummed in a current where palm met palm and spread outward as gentle waves lap a lonely shore. Until her skin hummed with a novel, suppressed joy, like coming home. And she fancied she felt another heartbeat sync with her own, another set of lungs rising and falling to the beat of their combined melody.

 

She felt whole, complete in a way that stole her breath and filled her to the brim, and it became almost…easy. All of it. The spell, the pain, breathing. The throbbing of her temples eased, burns and bruises faded. She gasped, sharp and loud, and almost lost the tread of her concentration, for something had awakened within her breast. She was no longer simply existing.

 

She was _alive_.

 

The clench of Lexa’s hand in hers drew her back, tethered her to the moment, and she clutched it like a lifeline, gathered the frayed threads of the spell, took up where she had faltered.

 

Her wand vibrated in her grip, a pleasant hum, like that of a cat’s purr.

 

As they neared the end of the incantation, two other entities joined, bright spots in Clarke’s mental map. Kane and…another professor. Byrne. Both passive presences, more for guidance and offered sources of power, which she siphoned eagerly to supplement their depleted stores.

 

With one final note and definitive wand wave, the shield was complete, and Clarke basked in the afterglow of advanced magic, the momentary aura of peace that surrounded her. Her and—

 

She glanced to her right, saw Lexa with her eyes still closed, breath steady. She studied her as the remnants of whatever this was—insanity? magic? love?—still surged strong through her blood. Firelight cast dancing shadows beneath long eyelashes, dipped into the hollow of a slender throat and brought the angle of a jaw into relief. It was dizzying, but in an exhilarating way. Never had Clarke experienced such affinity with another person. Such a desire to know and be near.

 

How wondrous.

 

How terrifying.

 

Breathless, she tried to wrap her mind around how attuned she felt to Lexa’s every move and thought, how reluctant to let go her hand.

 

This was not normal.

 

She tightened her grip and Lexa made a small noise, turned her head, and Clarke’s breath caught. Green eyes shimmered, red-rimmed and vulnerable in a way that called to something deep within Clarke’s heart, clenched and twisted at the already strained muscle. If there were any doubts she stood alone in these shifting sands, they were dashed in that moment. As she watched, a lone tear escaped, trailed slowly along the gentle curve of a cheekbone and came to rest at the corner of a trembling lip.

 

It brought an answering prick of tears to Clarke’s eyes, and she took a step closer.

 

“Lexa,” she murmured, awed. Confused. Hesitant.

 

Lexa dropped her hand, the severed connection sharp like a physical break, painful. An ache throbbed in her chest, and she felt bereft at the loss, to an extent far greater than the small action warranted.

 

“We have a skrewt to catch.” Lexa said, voice even, and she swiped a palm across her cheek to erase the evidence of any emotion.

 

“Lexa, what—”

 

“Clarke.” Definitive, firm in the sharp click of the consonants.

 

She heard the _Later_ without having to try.

 

She passed through the erected shield unharmed—citrus and cinnamon mingling on her tongue—and didn’t look back.

 

It was surprisingly easy to track the fleeing skrewt, despite its head start. From the sulfuric stench of its flame to the soot-stained stones left in its wake, the path of destruction served as well as any tracking spell. Down corridors and through halls, eventually they rounded a bend and found themselves on a grassy field on the way to the quiddich pitch.

 

Autumn’s chill bit at her exposed skin, and Clarke shivered as her feet shuffled across frozen earth.

 

She halted when she spotted it, a puddle of darker ink amidst the other shadows of night. With a murmured word, Lexa created a light, one that hovered midair before rising, casting the clearing into relief beneath its glow.

 

The skrewt stood oddly still, its antennae-like neck raised high. Like a dog scenting the air. Or a cockroach as it tested shifting wind currents.

 

Wary, Clarke raised her wand, wishing she had thought of a plan.

 

Lexa began to edge away, as though intending to circle the beast, one slide of the foot after another, careful to keep each movement minimal and nonthreatening. _Motion and heat and blood_. Clarke remembered the many weeping wounds she and Lexa sported. How very warm and alive they must seem.

 

Dread pooled in her stomach.

 

Lexa drew closer, further from Clarke, and a band stretched tight around her lungs, choking her with every step. This was wrong. She felt it on a cellular level.

 

The neck twitched.

 

“Lexa,” she whispered, her tone a warning that clouded into the chilly air unheeded.

 

In the distance, Clarke heard a group of students gathered, oblivious and laughing, and she surmised that was where the skrewt had been headed. Either there, or the Forbidden Forest.

 

A few legs shifted position to better aim its mouth.

 

“Lexa…” Louder this time, urgent.

 

“Shhh.”

 

Clarke sensed a wordless spell in its infant stages, but it would be too late. Heart pounding, she could see it play out in her mind as the skrewt turned fully to line up its target.

 

 _No_.

 

The mouth extended and the body braced for attack.

 

 _NO_.

 

Without thought, Clarke cast a warming spell, a spell that set her skin ablaze—so quickly it almost burned, but it did the trick. The skrewt changed targets and charged.

 

“Clarke!”

 

She had no time to react, only time to tense in anticipation of the impact—

 

—which came from the side, knocking her to the ground with a force that jarred her already sensitive head until she saw stars. Splayed on the ground, cheek scraped and smushed into frosty rime, she blinked the blurry world back into focus.

 

The skrewt barreled over Lexa, the impact heavy enough to reverberate through Clarke’s body from meters away. It poised above her, crab-like legs caging her in.

 

Clarke squinted, waited for her to fight, waited for _something_ as her faculties returned. But ice suffused her veins at what she saw: a body whose limbs lay akimbo, like a marionette with cut strings as the skrewt prepared to feed. Lexa, who lay still. Unmoving.

 

Terror closed Clarke’s throat.

 

“Lexa.” Her mouth moved but her voice refused to work.

 

Clarke scrambled to her feet, clumsy and stiff, wand gripped in numb fingers.

 

“Lexa!” she cried, tears and anger and anguish garbling the name into a wordless plea.

 

As if hearing the call, Lexa jolted, chest rising with a gasp. Her eyes fluttered and head tilted, as though searching for Clarke’s voice. A sob of relief lodged in Clarke’s throat.

 

It was the catalyst that ignited her fury into a deadly blaze. She stalked forward, mind eerily calm.

 

She thought of something innocuous. Something innocent and kind and _good_ and before she knew it her wand was tracing intricate shapes in the air, desperation fueling her focus and fear guiding her hand. The kind of terror that harbored _never_ s and _goodbye_ s and lost chances and today was a day for none of those.

 

Not today. Not for Lexa.

 

 _“It is not the volume of the voice that makes a spell,”_ she recalled in professor Kane’s tranquil alto, _“but rather its conviction. Conviction and concentration are the cornerstones of any spell work. Write that down, because if there is anything you take from this class and out into the world, let it be that.”_

 

She chanted under her breath as she strode, each step steady and sure and in time to the dancing tip of her wand, words confident and precise despite the tremble in her jaw because there were moments in life where mistakes were not an option. She vibrated with the ferocity of her racing mind, felt the building magic wash through her veins like a growing tide, felt it coalesce and strengthen into a compact sphere of energy, poised and ready. And with one last powerful syllable, crisp and binding, she flung it outward, aimed it true.

 

The magic surged and released as she loosed the spell toward the skrewt, an inferno fitted in a matchbox, waiting for a spark to explode.

 

She slumped in the aftermath, weakened from the loss and effort, and shivered at the onslaught of chills in the autumn evening. Her vision wavered, blackness encroaching at the edges, but she held onto consciousness by sheer force of will.

 

The spell hit true. The skrewt glimmered, edges shimmering as a mirage in the desert’s heat, before winking out.

 

An implosion as soft as a blink.

 

“Lexa!”

 

She ran as best she could, dropped to her knees at Lexa’s side. Her hands hovered, afraid to touch, afraid of what she would find. A bite to Lexa’s abdomen bled sluggishly, but her eyes were open. They blinked up at her, dazed, as she cradled Lexa’s face in her hands.

 

“Hey,” she said softly, as those roaming eyes met hers—still dazed, but trying to focus. She brushed a thumb along the edge of a jaw. “Hey, can you hear me?”

 

Lines furrowed between her eyebrows. “Clarke?” It was more air than voice, and her breathing remained shallow.

 

“Hold on.” Clarke muttered an _Accio wand_ , and felt it settle in her grip. “Where does it hurt?”

 

Lexa attempted a breath to speak, but it got stuck halfway on the inhale, a small sound of pain escaping instead.

 

“It’s fine,” she reassured, placing a hand on her shoulder, and Lexa stopped attempting to talk. _Ribs_ , Clarke mentally categorized. _Bruised or cracked_. _Concussion_. _Bite wound_. _Burns_. “Don’t move.”

 

She preformed a healing spell. Several. Thorough and methodical, from head to toes, until clouded eyes cleared and pain lines smoothed into a relieved half-smile.

 

Clarke smiled back, blinking the blurriness from her vision. “Hey there.”

 

“Hey.”

 

She didn’t realize she was trembling until Lexa shushed a palm along her forearm, gripping her elbow as though to provide support. Eyebrows rose in the middle above a gaze gentle with concern and understanding.

 

 _We did it_.

 

The relief hit her then, heady and overwhelming. With a chuckle that was almost a sob, Clarke sank forward, resting her face just above Lexa’s collarbone, nose pressed to the crook of her neck. She inhaled, eyes closed, and felt tentative hands grasp her waist. A shuddering breath expanded the chest beneath her, then warmed her temple in a long sigh.

 

Lexa was warm and here and alive, and this was enough.

 

For a while they simply lay, savoring the quiet and the comfort of contact. The insistent pull in Clarke’s chest was placated, replaced by the lull of contented satisfaction.

 

Distant cheers issued from the great hall, but still Clarke didn’t move.

 

“Sounds like they have things handled up there.” Lexa’s voice was a murmur by her ear, and Clarke hummed, rousing from an almost doze. She felt tired in her very bones.

 

“Good,” she said, voice ragged and low from yelling. “Because if I ever see another skrewt in my life, it’ll be too soon. Hagrid was an idiot.”

 

Her lips brushed soft skin as she spoke, and arms wrapped more securely around her waist.

 

“You wouldn’t have an idea of how this happened, would you?”

 

Leave it to Lexa to start planning punishments while lying on the ground in the aftermath of battle. It was enough to entice a smile. “Perhaps.”

 

A pause.

 

“Does her name rhyme with maven?”

 

Clarke pulled back with effort. “You’re sassy when you’ve barely cheated death.”

 

A quirk of an eyebrow, the glint of humor in green depths. “I’d hardly go so far as to say death. Maybe a maiming. At most disfigurement.”

 

Her smile faded. “You joke and yet you weren’t the one that had to watch…” She trailed off, unwilling to finish the thought. She brushed a thumb along a tired cheekbone, smudging soot and ash and blood beneath vivid green eyes, their humor softening into something more sincere. “Don’t do that again.”

 

“Save your life?”

 

“Risk yours for no reason.”

 

Lexa gazed up at her, somber and wistful. “You are every reason, Clarke.”

 

The simple honesty tugged at something inside her, awakened that earlier pull from its slumber and ignited a restless longing. Gentle, yes, but undeniable. The urge for closeness was so overpowering, she swayed forward into Lexa’s space.

 

“I need to touch you.” That wasn’t exactly what she meant, but it was also everything she meant. Both statement and question.

 

A flicker of emotion in Lexa’s eyes, there then gone. Lexa gripped her wrist, guided it to her cheek. An offering.

 

“It’s okay,” she said, eyelashes fluttering when skin met skin.

 

Clarke let the warmth soak into her palm, tried to decipher the new connection that stretched between them as she held Lexa’s gaze. Such an odd sensation, this mirrored physical and emotional reaction, like magnets whose polarized charges relaxed once touching. Already the ache in her breast eased. She moved her hand to Lexa’s chest, just above her heart, and felt the reassuring rhythm beneath her palm, steady and strong.

 

“What is this?” She spoke more to herself than anything, watching the point of contact as goosebumps erupted along Lexa’s skin and her eyelids drooped.

 

“You feel it too,” Clarke observed as tension uncoiled from Lexa’s body, bit by bit.

 

Drooping eyelids closed, an admission in itself. The heavy _thump thump thump_ beneath her fingers quickened as if in answer. _Yes yes yes_.

 

“Yes.” This a whisper, and Clarke’s radar pinged.

 

“You know something.”

 

When Lexa opened her eyes, they were full of a guarded affection, soft and unwavering. Her heart answered for her.

 

 _Yes yes-yes yes-yes_.

 

“Should I be worried?”

 

“It is nothing malevolent.”

 

Something shifted in her expression as she studied Clarke’s face, eyes roving to drink her in as a flower basked in sunlight. Clarke leaned down to better soak in her sun. It was tacit permission for the question she saw hovering in cautious eyes.

 

 _Yes_. _You can_. _Please_.

 

Lexa brushed a fingertip along the curve of her cheek, a slow butterfly touch that almost tickled, as an artist sketches details to trace into memory. She skirted across her temple to tuck loose strands of frizzy hair behind her ear before lowering to curl a palm along her jaw, fingers wrapping around her neck. Tentative, testing. Clarke leaned into the caress, savored the wave of warmth that rolled through her veins like incoming tide, and the way Lexa’s eyes shifted, darkened into a richer green as her lips parted.

 

“I…suspected.”

 

Clarke leaned down, resting her weight on elbows, until curve met curve and her cheek brushed Lexa’s. “Suppositions should be shared.”

 

A shuddering breath warmed her ear, and she felt Lexa begin to let go of her tight restraint. “We are bonding.”

 

Clarke stilled, letting the information sink in. “Bonding?” She sat up and Lexa followed her movement, a dance of gentle give and take. Arms settled about her waist once more, keeping her on Lexa’s lap. Keeping her close.

 

“It is what some call soul mates. Rare.” Lexa’s gaze skittered across the skin on display—eyes, throat, collarbone, shoulder, chin, eyes. Disbelieving. Never settling. “The reaching out of one kindred spirit to another. Though the term isn’t proven. Highly theorized with little evidence.”

 

Clarke wove a hand through dark, disheveled curls, endeared. Curious as she chewed on this concept. Then she had a thought. “Did you suspect before?”

 

Color bloomed in rounded cheeks, and Clarke wanted to paint the sight into permanence, to fold it safely away into fond memory, brought out when she needed a little sunshine on stormy days.

 

Lexa glanced away. “You mean when I…”

 

Clarke nodded, trailing fingers from the cut of a jawline and lower, to the delicate swell of Lexa’s throat.

 

A silence, and Clarke both heard and felt the bob of Lexa’s swallow, the roll of soft skin beneath the pad of her thumb.

 

“Yes.”

 

Their gazes caught and held.

 

She traced expressive eyes the color of green seas, noticed the tinge of blue limning their margins. Reveled in the sense of rejuvenation, of comfort and calm, provided in each touch of skin against skin. Magic, for all its study, was a mysterious and wonderful entity.

 

Lexa’s tone softened as Clarke swayed closer, almost brushing the tip of her nose with her own. “I can only predict, but perhaps close proximity and the blending of our magic catalyzed the process.”

 

Distant memories resurfaced, of quickened heartbeats and lingering glances. Eyes that spoke more than mouths, the question in a press of lips, the nervous disappointment of rejection. Her own guilt mingled with uncertainty. “And a kiss didn’t?”

 

Another swallow, accompanied by the quick dip of those eyes lower then up once more. Clarke’s stomach swooped with a whole new kind of heat, one that set her pulse racing.

 

“I imagine we both had to be ready, open to…”

 

“Connection,” Clarke supplied, pressing a kiss to a flushed cheek, the skin soft and pliant beneath her lips. She lingered, the surge of tingling heat addictive. It left her trembling in its wake.

 

A nod. Silence but for shared breaths. “It can be difficult to resist.”

 

Clarke pulled back, struck by a terrible thought. “You’ve felt this before?”

 

“Not to this extent, but yes.”

 

She tried to imagine the effort of will required to resist such a persistent draw. Her hands tightened their hold involuntarily. “You could have told me.”

 

“I did not know what…” She paused, and Clarke saw her rewriting in her head. _Always so careful with your words_. “…if you would be amenable to the notion.”

 

 _No, I guess you wouldn’t_ , Clarke thought, remembering _Not yet_ and resigned heartache. But that was in the past. Now there was only this, Lexa pressed against her and an insular heat that called her closer with each passing moment. This time, there was no insidious doubt to hold her back. The thrum of anticipation heightened, almost palpable as she leaned into Lexa’s personal space.

 

“I’m very menable,” she murmured.

 

“That’s not a word.” It was half a protest—any self-respecting Ravenclaw would, she supposed—but Clarke saw the crinkle of amusement at the corner of her eyes, the upward curl of lips into an almost smile.

 

But trepidation still lurked beneath.

 

“We’re…” Lexa began, then regrouped. “This is not…a requirement.” She seemed to struggle for words, and it was a novel sight. “If you want, we can separate and I’m sure the process will cease in…in time…” As Clarke closed the remaining distance between them, Lexa lost her words altogether.

 

Soft. That was Clarke’s first impression. Soft and warm and lovely. The first press of lips was tentative, barely there for all the build up and persistent draw. Tentative and light because this was Lexa, and she mattered. Clarke kissed her, there then gone, an offering and a question at the same time, almost chaste in its delicacy. Then she hovered before a silent and still Lexa, breaths mingling, and waited.

 

In that small span of space, Clarke felt the change in whatever this was between them, felt it shift and grow despite the seed of doubt that sprouted at Lexa’s continued stillness. How very full and immense it was, balancing on this precipice. But she started to draw away, because maybe she was wrong and—

 

Arms tightened around her waist, tugged her back in, and Clarke lost herself to sensation. There was only the tender caress of lips as they moved with her own, soft and slow and searching. The molten pull low in her belly as curves met curves. The catch of breath in the back of Lexa’s throat when Clarke angled her face and pressed closer. That sound. It sent shivers across her skin, tingles down her spine. She wanted to hear that sound again.

 

When Lexa pulled away, she rested her forehead against Clarke’s. Long lashes fluttered across her cheeks, the brush intimate and innocent as Clarke took the time to steady her ragged breathing, attempted to make sense of the evolving swirl of emotion that throbbed in time with her heart.

 

The reassuring press of Lexa’s forehead left, and Clarke let out a sigh, thought it was over.

 

But then Lexa tilted her head, nose brushing across Clarke’s in a sensual slide, and chased her lips to… _oh_. This kiss was different. Deep and slow and passionate, and it curled her toes until she forgot the meaning of words. Over the pounding of her pulse in her ears, the rush of blood through her veins, she had never felt so cherished, so loved. Fingers slid into place behind her head, the hold gentle and reverent. Heat enveloped her, sparked along her nerve endings from every savored touch, and she pressed into it until she lost track of where she stopped and Lexa began.

 

This time Clarke was the one to pull away, overwhelmed. Elation bubbled through her chest and erupted in a chuckle, breathy and weak.

 

She felt the curve of Lexa’s smile on her shoulder, her throat, her brow. Each press of lips to skin a small bloom of warmth. _Hi_. _I’m here_. _Thank you_.

 

“That was…” Clarke trailed off, opening her eyes at last, marveling at the sheer inability of words to do it justice.

 

Lexa murmured against her temple, “Yes.”

 

Simple.

 

Clarke supposed that summed it up nicely. Wondered if this already expansive bond would deepen with time. A daunting thought. For now, the pull was sated, replaced instead with a presence, an awareness that pulsed in her heart and felt full. Light.

 

“You require a healer,” Lexa said, eyes open and expressive when they met hers. A mirrored lightness reflected in those eyes. “One more adept than I.”

 

But Clarke didn’t want to move, and curled her calves closer to Lexa’s body, effectively encircling her as she sat in her lap. Though the air was cold, the headache was but a memory, and the lingering burns felt distant, muffled by the potency of Lexa’s presence.

 

Soul mates, apparently, were powerful stuff.

 

A tremulous, high-pitched mewl made them both pause and look to the side.

 

“A kitten?” Lexa said, incredulous.

 

The ball of orange-marbled fur appeared none the worse for wear, despite its apparent fright and unsteady legs.

 

Clarke pursed her lips. “I always wanted a familiar.”

 

Lexa blinked. “Clarke, that’s… How did you—”

 

“I think I’ll name her Skrewt.” She reached out a hand and wiggled her fingers. “C’mere girl.” The kitten laid back its ears and hissed. “It’s a work in progress.”

 

“I imagine it’s an adjustment going from eight legs to four.”

 

“Something you would know about?”

 

Lexa raised an eyebrow, her only response, and Clarke laughed, sliding a hand up the muscles of her back to grip her shoulder.

 

She leaned closer to whisper, “Humor looks good on you.”

 

Soft eyes would be the death of her. “And happiness looks good on you.”

 

Clarke blushed, glancing away.

 

“That’s advanced magic, Clarke,” Lexa said as she eyed the stumbling kitten once more.

 

“And you seem to know an awful lot about animagi.”

 

Another stare. Clarke could get used to this.

 

“Is there a question in there?” Her mouth curved into a proper smile, and it was a beautiful sight. It tugged at that _something_ in Clarke’s chest, and she couldn’t resist reaching out, brushing her thumb along the curve of a plump lower lip.

 

“Will it always be this powerful?” she wondered aloud.

 

Lexa pressed a kiss to the pad. “I can only postulate, but I suspect not. It stands to reason the nascent stages would be more…turbulent.”

 

“You sound like Raven.”

 

Clarke watched the elegant arch of an eyebrow. “The maven is a Ravenclaw, after all.”

 

“It was Nia,” Clarke corrected, fiddling with a loose dark curl at Lexa’s neck. She shivered and pressed closer, the cold beginning to creep into her skin. “Something she said. I think she released them.

 

Lexa gave a conciliatory nod and began to rise, urging Clarke from her lap. With a sigh, Clarke began the process of untangling her stiff and sore limbs.

 

“Do you like felines?”

 

Clarke glanced at Skrewt and frowned, dusting off her knees as she stretched them out. “I guess. I’ve always been a cat and dog person. Don’t really have a preference. Why?”

 

An innocuous shrug as Lexa rose to her feet, graceful despite her torn attire. “Curiosity.”

 

Clarke narrowed her eyes, noticed the glint in Lexa’s, the hint of a mischievous curl at the corners of soft lips. _Curiosity killed the.._.

 

“Lexa,” Clarke began.

 

She held out a hand. “You require a proper healer.”

 

“ _Lexa_.”

 

“And the ground is cold.”

 

She wiggled her fingers, face patient and calm, and Clarke took the offered hand, allowing Lexa to pull her upright. She remained close, wrapped her arms around Lexa in a hug, felt some of that calm seep into her bones when Lexa returned the embrace, nudging Clarke’s temple with her own. It was new, but welcome. She imagined a lifetime of this, simplicity and support. Love and affection.

 

Together was a wonderful word.

 

“Let’s go inside.” Lexa’s light from above hovered lower, brightening the small clearing before it winked out. The tip of Lexa’s wand kept the darkness at bay, its glow setting her features into relief. She stepped back and gestured. “Grab Bandy-Legs.”

 

“Her name is Skrewt.”

 

Lexa shook her head and began walking. “No apex predator in their right mind would like that name.”

 

It took Clarke a moment, but she gasped and gathered the discombobulated kitten under one arm, rushing to shove Lexa in the shoulder.

 

“I _knew_ it!”

 

Lexa’s laughter was a beautiful sound.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at hownowwit1.tumblr.com if you want to say hi or send prompts.


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